


The Art of Depravity

by RaisinPastry



Category: The Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 19:37:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10906083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaisinPastry/pseuds/RaisinPastry
Summary: From bartenders to businessmen to burlesque, Alec must be insane for letting Jem talk him into this





	The Art of Depravity

Alec is dying, lying in bed, head hanging upside down over the edge of the mattress. It's giving him a headache, which maybe is a good thing. Maybe the process will go faster this way. It'd be a mercy, an escape from sluggishness, heaps of homework, the constant hunger tearing open his stomach. All of it building up to the landlord, who'll come knocking at their door one of these days, finally asking for rents that were due months ago.

Jem barges into his room like he owns the place. In a sense, he does, but Alec's still annoyed that his gloomy concentration has been interrupted. His eyelids slide close. He hopes he looks convincingly asleep.

"I found us some jobs," Jem says.

Alec can't resist snorting. "And I found a way to fix the heater. And got the window in the living room to shut all the way, and the neighbors to stop having orgies every night." He doesn't even feel bad. Crankiness is his way of life these days.  

"No, I'm serious."

Alec drags his gaze upwards, where Jem is towering tall, holding a newspaper open. With a soft grunt, Alec heaves his back up to sit up in bed. Before he can steal the paper, Jem has perched next to him and spread it out on the stained sheets. His delicate fingers are gentle, even when smoothing the bent corners of something so worthless. It's turned to the ads page, where big box sales are flourishing and discounts for pet items are on the rise.

"Great," Alec says. "I was wondering where I was going to buy my next doggie tunnel." He jams his index finger into the ad, wrinkling it despite Jem's best efforts, and Jem shooes his hand away.

"I have something better," he says. Alec's gaze follows Jem's fingertips to a different ad displaying a badly pixelated image of a high heel pump and a lipsticked kiss. His eyes runs through the details in text: all three lines of them. And he looks up at Jem.

"This is a strip club," he says.

"And they're looking for _male_ strippers," Jem replies calmly, tracing the exact line as if Alec couldn't read:   **Cute, college-aged, twinks wanted.** His stomach lurches like he's ten years old again, on a boat for the first time and seasick.

"I'm not a twink."

"It's okay," Jem says. "I know you're not."

"I'm not _doing_ that." Alec tries to shove the newspaper off his bed, but Jem gathers it up against his chest, making it fold and crinkle loudly.

"Why?"

"Don't you have any pride?" Alec asks. When Jem stares back with only a sympathetic knit in his eyebrows, he groans and turns away. "I'm not gonna let losers use my body for their sick, sexual gratification."

"It's not like we're becoming hookers," Jem says.

"This is almost as low."

"It's not even close." When he stubbornly refuses to meet Jem's eyes, Alec hears a sigh of defeat. "This isn't ideal for me either. And obviously, I'd take anything else if there were offers. But there aren't. We need this money Alec, or we're going to be out on the streets."

"Day jobs," Alec suggests. "With sane employers. Would dropping out really be so bad?"

Jem's voice changes, syrup to steel and no compromise in between. "I'm going to become a musician. If that means classes during the day and stripping at night, then fine." There's a pause where Alec grits his teeth together, not out of anger, but frustration. "What about you?"

Alec's eyes flick back to the ad. The horrible quality of the image, the typos in the writing.

"Are you willing to give up your Art major?" Jem asks intensely. Then he quiets again. "To me, it's just showing off some skin. But if it really makes you uncomfortable, I don't want to force you. I could probably earn enough for the both of us, at least for a little while."

Alec's mistake is looking into Jem's face. The distress and guilt he won't voice, underneath a mask of desperation. The chewed bottom lip and the worrying line in his forehead. It could be as easy as saying 'no', and Jem would never bother him again. For just a second, he imagines it. Fragile Jem, two inches shorter and twenty pounds lighter than him, alone in a strobe lighted bar, surrounded by lustful men who'd like nothing better than to drag him home for the night and use him like a ragdoll.

"This is a terrible idea, in case you haven't realized." And even as Alec is saying it, he knows that he'll never abandon Jem to such a vulnerable state. The implications beyond that numb him.

Jem's squint is calculating. "So are you…?"

Alec tugs the newspaper out of Jem's grasp, laying it out on the sheets. He pulls his phone from his back pocket, unlocking it and bracing himself for the future, like Jem already has. "Read out the contact number to me."

"Thank you Alec." His best friend isn't one to dodge an emotional confrontation; all awkwardness be damned. "I know this is hard for you."

"We're in this together," is Alec's simple reply. They share a tentative smile and for a fraction of a second, he believes everything's going to work out okay.

_____________

 

Alec wishes the dressing room didn't have mirrors. It's too hard not to catch a glimpse of himself, and when he does, he can't stop staring. Like right now.

The eyeliner around his eyes. The spray in his hair, making it seem effortlessly tousled. His long, long legs; paler than milk. He's submerged in the odd sensation of an out-of-body experience and can't seem to swim to the surface.

Jem clicks up to him, working high heels like he's been wearing them all his life. He takes hold of the open ties of Alec's crop top and fixes them into a deceptively innocent bow, just like the one fastened at his own chest. They're wearing the same skimpy pair of mini shorts too.

"Are you alright?" he asks, gazing up and studying Alec's face. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

Alec shakes his head. "Only if you quit too."

"That won't happen."

"Well alright then."

Jem's mouth sinks into a frown, but Alec turns away from him, away from his reflection. He tries to pull Jem toward the door, but ends up leaning on him instead, needing  the support. Heels are actual hell to balance on, and he feels an empathetic pang for all women of the world as they stumble into the club area.

The stage and the catwalk are bathed in multi-colored spotlights, and everything else is pitch dark. There are sparsely clothed bodies on display, swinging around poles, almost too fluid to be real. Breathing in, the air is thick with warring smells of cigarette smoke, tangy alcohol, and the heavy perfume used to mask them. Where the edges of the lights brush, he can make out couches and tables, and the more Alec's eyes adjust, the better he can see the audience.

Jem tugs on his elbow. The pulsing music isn't tastelessly loud, so Alec can still catch what he's saying. "The manager said we'd be serving drinks. The bar's over there."

His shorts feel like they're wedging up higher and higher with every step he takes, but Alec manages to keep his wobbling to a minimum. When they reach the counter, the bartender glances up from polishing a glass. He's tall and fit, wearing a gray long-sleeved t-shirt pushed up to his elbows. Alec suddenly understands why strangers feel the need to comment on how _blue_ his eyes are all the time.

"Hey. Are you the newbies?" The guy leans on the counter, showing off the attractive tone in his forearms. An inky black curl falls over his forehead.

Alec glances at Jem, expecting him to respond: he's usually better with people. But Jem's stilled up, lips sealed, gazing at the bartender. Alec turns back, taking up responsibility instead.

"Yeah, it's our first day."

"Nice to meet you then." He tosses the long white rage over his shoulder and sets the glass down. "I'm Will."

"Alec," he replies, shaking his hand. Will has a firm grip, and a confident grin to go along with it. He feels a surge of heavy attraction, but then, his attention is stolen away.

Will is holding his hand out, and it takes a moment for Jem to blink, realize what's happening, and slip his dainty hand into Will's. Jem's grip isn't firm at all, and his hand slips out like wet spaghetti the second the shake is over.

"Your name?" Will laughs.

Alec reaches around Jem's shoulders and gives him a comforting squeeze. They've been best friends since middle school and it's rare to see him less than composed. Pressing his lips against Jem's ear, Alec murmurs, "We can still go home."

"I'm Jem." His voice has the same muted quality as always, and yet, it's still off.

"That's gorgeous," Will says. "Did your parents ever read 'To Kill a Mockingbird'?"

"No, sorry."

"Have you ever read it?"

"Just in high school."

"Did you _really_ though?" Will cocks an eyebrow, levelling his gaze. "Sparknotes. Come on."

Jem shakes his head, smile forming at last, and it's shy and heater warm. "I wasn't the fastest reader in the world, but I did like it." 

"I guess I won't tease you for being nerdy." Will straightens up from the counter, grinning. "It's a great book."

"Don't worry, I won't expose you either." Jem look amused. "What would all the strippers think when they find out you're educated? God what a nightmare."

Will's laughter is colored with surprised, and afterwards, he cards a hand through his hair. The expression that briefly flashes across his face in unreadable, but if Alec had to place a label, he'd call it troubled.  "Be careful out there Jem. They'll want to eat you alive." He takes two trays off the back counter and hands one over to each of them. "Table seventeen and table two. Numbered plate cards are on every centerpiece."

"Thanks," Alec says. They split up, heading for their respective tables. In his peripherals, he can see Jem wobbling on his heels for the first time and it makes him smile.

They're never asked to strip or go on stage or VIP with a customer. For the next few hours, all they do is take orders, serving drinks and the occasional appetizer. A few people do try to chat Alec up, but he's good at being aloof. It's his natural state. They just give up after their initial try and go back to gazing up at the stage. After passing Jem on the way back to the bar and exchanging smiles, Alec starts to relax. This was a pretty good idea afterall.

"A St. John," Alec tells Will, leaning against the counter to take some weight off his tired legs. "With gold flakes on top."

Will raises his eyebrows but nods, reaching behind him to lift a black bottle off the shelf. "That's the most the expensive thing on the menu," he comments.

Alec doesn't really know how to respond, so he takes the tray in thoughtful silence.

"Here you are, sir." Alec bends over to transfer the wineglass to the tabletop with shaky precision. He steps back, hugging the tray to his chest. "Can I get you anything else?"

"Not at the moment, thank you."

Two fingers pinch the lacy trim of his shorts and Alec can't help his gaze from darting up. The glow from the stage lights are dim, but he can make out a suit, pressed and cloudy gray, elegantly clinging to the trim body of a young man. His combed hair is as pristine and white as a sculpture, his eyes just as soulless. He's devilishly handsome and all Alec wants to do is bolt for the door.

"Won't you take a seat with me, baby blues?" The man's long fingers gesture toward the open cushion beside him. He can't disobey a request, so Alec moves to follow it. For all his perceived bravery, he's suddenly nauseous. The man's arm stretches over to rest on the seat back behind his head and Alec just barely resists the urge to shiver.

"I haven't seen you around here before. Are you new?" The man's voice is amused, like he already knows the answer and enjoys the satisfaction of witnessing Alec's anxiety. The wine glass is lifted off the table and he takes a gracious sip, adam's apple bobbing.

Alec just nods.

The man laughs. "I've been so rude then. Allow me to introduce myself." Instead of shaking his hand, the man laces their fingers together and brushes his lips against Alec's knuckles, feather light but lingering long enough flush his skin. "Sebastian."

"Alexander," he replies. Alec snaps his wrist back and Sebastian smiles.

"Lovely... Just lovely." His fingers drum on his wineglass and Alec wonders what he's really thinking, behind that mask of pleasantness. Then Sebastian is leaning forward and Alec's mind goes blank, the aroma of expensive cologne filling up his nose. "You know you really are too beautiful to be working here."

Alec blushes, despite himself. Despite knowing the compliment is blatant flattery. He's too hot and too warm with Sebastian's face so close. "Please sir."

"I'm quite serious. You're by far the most striking of the staff, with those eyes of yours." Sebastian hums and it's surreptitiously soothing, weighing down Alec's eyelashes. "Their color  belong in an art gallery. Not some hellhole for insufferable scum."

"Th-thank you." Alec blinks, slightly drawing out of his stupor. "Then why are you here?"

A dismissive scoff. "I do business with the owner. I stop in occasionally...when there's something to be discussed." Sebastian settles back into the cushion, eyes dragging over his face. "The real question is why are you here?"

Alec looks at his lap and murmurs something about money. He wants to pull away from Sebastian's arm, which is squeezing his shoulders now. But he doesn't know how to without being rude.

His gaze sweeps across the club, maybe to signal an emergency SOS. But Jem's much too far away, stuck at the bar, where Will is generously leaning over the counter. Jem is shaking his head and Will is saying something, grinning, and they simultaneously burst into laughter. Not that Alec wants to cockblock, but he's in dire need of a wingman.

"What would you think," Sebastian's velvety voice is saying, "About coming to work for me at my mansion?"

"What?" His shout cuts through the music, and he has to force himself to lower his volume. "No, I'm, um. Sorry I can't."

"Make no mistake, your salary would be twice what it is here. You'd perform the same tasks--" the arm looped around him reaches across his chest and plays with the ties of his blouse, loosening them slowly, "-- but privately. Just for me."

A panicked surge of courage has him flying to his feet, the drink tray almost clattering to the ground. The warmth of Sebastian's hand falls away from his thigh and he marvels at how he could've missed it. How long had it been there?

"This is favor for a friend," Alec says with more conviction than he feels. "I'm looking out for him."

"Some friend." Sebastian rolls his eyes and sighs. "I would treat you much better. You won't need anyone else."

Alec stops himself from spewing the first things that pop into his head. Which, incidentally, are a string of curse words explicit enough to get him fired. He waits a few seconds, letting his temper cool and drop like a thermometer. It helps that his top is almost entirely undone, threatening to slip off his shoulders. The hem of the fabric is chaffing his nipples, making them pebble in the cold.

"I'm sorry sir. You'll have to find someone else." Toxicity is laced in his tone, but keeping it PG was an effort in itself. He turns to leave, already retying his blouse, but something slips into his back pocket. Alec whips his head around to glare.

"What's this?" he asks, yanking it out.

"In case you feel like rethinking my offer." Sebastian's smile is chilly as he twists the stem of his glass between his fingers.

Alec takes a few steps to distance them further, then glances down at the the stiff, rectangular business card. An elaborate eagle insignia is etched above a phone number.

"I'll be seeing you again, Alexander," Sebastian calls.

 _No thanks freak,_ Alec thinks.

As he's walking away, he runs into Jem, whose cheeks are colored a vivid pink. A smile is spilling from his lips.

"Hey Alec. Sorry, where were you? Will said you were serving some pricey customer…"

"It's nothing." Alec throws a casual arm Jem's shoulders. "So how's the flirting going?"

"We weren't flirting, we were just talking."

"Right," Alec says. "Talking and laughing and giggling with a hot guy. Whatever you say."

"It's nothing." Jem looks away, blushing harder than ever, and Alec feels a rush of giddiness for his best friend. The thought of Sebastian has drifted far away from his mind and by the end of their conversation Alec has already forgotten him.

 

Hours later, they're leafing through their hefty paychecks while walking home. Despite the oversized jackets bundled over their skimpy uniforms, it's still pretty windy out, and they huddle up, sides melded together. They recount memorable stories from the night and laugh and laugh until their sides split and Alec can't even register the cold anymore.

_____________

 

They pay off a month of rent that week. It's not even close to covering all of their debt, but it's a definite start. They also buy a fresh batch of groceries and sit on the floor of their living room, tearing into long lost fruits and vegetables like Kings at a banquet.  Alec buys a cheap set of pencils for no other reason than the right to say he can afford a cheap set of pencils: papermart brand. He lays in bed and draws in his sketchpad with them. Each stroke is brazenly bold and has its own sense of crystal clearness; a rebirth of life on a blank page.

 

_____________

 

Friday rolls around again and Jem has a concert with the other members of his orchestra. It bleeds late into the night, which is how Alec finds himself, alone, at the strip club.

"Hey," Will greets brightly when Alec picks up his first tray of drinks. His eyes flick over Alec's shoulder and his grin wavers. "Where's your cute friend?"

"Charity Ball."

"Ah. Seems about right." Will looks thoroughly disappointed though, and immediately loses all interest in talking to him.

Things don't get much better from there. Another careless server trips and spills daiquiris all over Alec's front. Not only does he has to deal with soaking, nose-stinging fabric, but also the embarrassment of having his nipples poking out, and customers' constant, lewd comments. The manager also pulls him aside to discuss training for catwalk shows. It's about the last conversation in the world Alec would've liked to have alone, and once it's finally over and he's wobbling toward his next table--unsteady on his feet--someone slaps his ass hard.

"Have a good night," one of the pole girls say to him as he's stepping out of the dressing room, after his shift has ended.

 _Too late_ , he thinks. Instead, he calls, "You too!" and heads for the exit, hands violently jammed in his pockets.

It's pouring outside, which is just amazing. Jem's probably eating pudding cups and sipping champagne, while Alec is getting drenched like he's the Wicked Witch of the West. It's not _really_ Jem's fault, and Alec would expect the same next time he has an art show to attend. But angrily stewing in his thoughts is gratifying in the short-term.

He hadn't noticed at what point he'd turned onto a deserted sidewalk, but when he does realize, a chill snakes down his spine. The street is eerily empty of cars, and its stores are closed, windows dark. The consistency of the air is heavy, everything obscured in viscous, black opacity. The only source of light are the reflections off the raindrops.

He glances over his shoulder, more on instinct than anything else. And to his horror, there's a group of people, trailing not close to him, but not very far either. Alec fixes his gaze forward and opts to dismiss them. It's unlikely they've noticed him, or would care enough to do so in the first place.

He stops at the curb, wrapping his jacket tighter around himself.

The group approaches a few minutes later, whistling, laughing.

"Well hello sweetheart," one man says, grabbing Alec's arm and securing him in place before he can bolt. "What are you doing out here so late at night?"

"I'm visiting my dad." Alec tries to jerk away, unsuccessfully. "He's a cop."

The man snorts. "And I'm the fucking mayor of New York."

Other bodies stumble in around him, strongly stinking of alcohol and murmuring things under their breath.

"What do you say about coming back to our place?" the loudest one asks. "We'll all have a good time, I promise." He catches Alec's chin between his rough fingers and Alec pushes his hand away.

"Fuck off or I'm calling the police."

Someone fists a handful of Alec's hair and shoves him against the nearest building. The brick wall scrapes his shoulder blades, but that's the least of his problems right now.

Alec lunges out, his fist catching one of the men in the jaw. There's a yell, an enraged growl, and then three pairs of hands are manhandling him into submission. Alec is yanked back by the hair and his head bangs against the wall. His vision goes fuzzy, dimming and blurring at the edges. Knees buckling, he sinks to the ground.

"Goddamn it." The sole of a shoe drives into his stomach, making him gasp. "That hurt you whore."

One man steps in front of his knelt form. Alec feels denim brush over his lips. A low voice is muttering and Alec can just barely make out the words. "Just stay still and everything'll be alright... Good boy..."

The harsh sound of zipper teeth-- grinding like metallic gears, breaking apart one by one--alerts Alec to what's about to happen. But he can't find it in himself to move because his muscles have frozen in blood-frosting fear, and oh god, _oh god_ , they're going force him to-to….

"Open up sweetheart," the man thumbs over his lips, "I wanna see your tongue all glistening and wet for me."

To his ears, the rev of a car engine seems like a world away. As does the shouting that follows, and Alec wonders if he's already slipped out of consciousness. Then, like a miracle, the men scatter, one of them hurriedly pulling up his pants and buckling his belt. Their feet pound against the pavement and fade away, while Alec slips further down the wall, like a puppet that's been cut from his strings.

There's footsteps approaching, but for some reason, Alec knows the danger has passed. A new figure kneels before him, a man, with his features slightly obscured in the darkness. His clothes are so nice--a white button up and tie--that they'll surely get ruined in the rain. If Alec had the strength to move his tongue, he'd tell him so. As it is, he can barely keep his eyes open.

"Are you alright?" the man is asking, fingers combing through Alec's hair. Alec makes  a pleasant mewling sound at how warm they are, and he doesn't even care that the man's other hand is slipping a gun back into his belt. The petting stops too suddenly. "Oh god."

Alec thinks he might've seen a flash of red when the man pulls his hand away. But it's gone in a second, replaced by a faceful of white cloth as Alec is pulled against his broad chest. One arm hooks beneath his knees and another hand supports his back. Alec is lifted into the air like a child.

They're walking toward the man's car; he can guess that much. And the man's body smells so fragrant and fresh, fuzzing up his head so that Alec can't help lowering his already heavy eyelids.

 

 


End file.
